


Too Much, Much Too Fast

by vvxw



Category: Sanditon (2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvxw/pseuds/vvxw
Summary: Post 1x06 drabble. Back in Sanditon, Charlotte is agonizing over Sidney's interest in Mrs. Eliza Campion.





	1. Not Preposterous, But Certainly Wrong

It had been three days since they returned to Sanditon from London, and Charlotte was downright agitated, pacing back and forth in the Parkers’ sitting room, book forgotten on a chair. For one thing, Mr. Tom had _insisted_ the widowed Mrs. Campion join them on their journey back, so that she could revel in the healing and relaxing environ and experience Sanditon for herself. Charlotte suspected Mr. Tom may have had other reasons for his insistence, reasons that involved her considerable fortune, and the happiness of a certain beloved and beleaguered younger brother. Charlotte moved to the window, observing the dreariness of the day, and huffed pettily.

Charlotte knew that the widowed Mrs. Campion’s companionship likely secured additional financial resources for Sanditon, and she knew that the widowed Mrs. Campion’s romantic situation likely meant Mr. Sidney Parker could enjoy the benefits of being in love once again, however delayed their ending was. Yet, Charlotte could not bring herself to feel comforted at these prospects—indeed, she couldn’t even bring herself to call the woman anything other than _the widowed Mrs. Campion_, as if repeating the circumstances of her appearance and identity meant something besides what she was feeling.

And what was it, exactly, that she was feeling? The lady Susan, having known Charlotte exactly three minutes, was all too eager to jump to love, which she knew was preposterous. Well, not preposterous, but certainly wrong, in any event. Mr. Sidney Parker was attractive, that was plain to see. Charlotte guessed he was the handsomest man in Sanditon, or possibly second only to the young Mr. Stringer. Beyond his evident beauty, she knew she also admired his sensibility—the head and heart that drove his decisions, that made him choose right over wrong, and the compassion he kept so carefully veiled.

So carefully veiled, Charlotte reflected, that had the events of the last week not been so urgent and dire, she wondered if she ever would have had the opportunity to see that side of him.

But love? It was too much, much too fast. And despite the things he had said to her at the party, she knew better than to labor under the assumption of being in his good graces. One misstep and she would be right back where she had been before. And Charlotte knew she didn’t want that; as she watched the carriages maneuver past the construction on the street below, she thought of how much it would hurt for Mr. Parker to return to his apathetic, and sometimes outright hostile, disposition towards her. No, she quite preferred thinking him partial to her.

Okay, Charlotte conceded. Perhaps there was _something_ of a fancy for him. But, as likely anyone would tell her, it could not be more than a silly girlhood crush, a vain product of her naivete. And if she allowed herself to ruminate on the flutterings in her stomach, the heat in her cheeks that she had enjoyed, even basked in, during their momentous dance together? Charlotte could hardly blame herself, as no harm could come.

So why, then, if it was just a frivolous fancy, did it crush her so to see Mr. Parker smiling and laughing with the widowed Mrs. Campion? Why did it feel like her stomach dropped into her feet when he touched the widowed Mrs. Campion on the arm in a friendly, familiar way?

Charlotte stopped her pacing across the sitting room as a carriage came to a halt in front of the house, and none other than the object of her attentions stepped out. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she wildly, frantically wondered if somehow he had heard her.

She waited until the circular top of his hat disappeared beneath the eaves of the front door, heart hammering in her ears, unable to move. She wondered if she should lock herself in her room until he left, or otherwise escape the house with the intention of missing him. It was immature, she knew; she just couldn’t bear the distinct possibility of seeing Mr. Parker fall irreparably in love with the widowed Mrs. Campion.

Nor could she do anything to prevent the inevitability of their passions, it seemed, for surely Mr. Parker was here to call on her, and to see that she was settling in alright. Why, it was only a matter of time before they were taking leisurely, romantic strolls along the shore, wind blowing them playfully into each other’s arms.

These thoughts, of Mr. Parker and the widowed Mrs. Campion wrapped intimately together, spurred her feet into movement, and she carried herself decidedly to her room.

She knew she was being ridiculous. She _knew_ it. But she couldn’t help being morose, and then she couldn’t help feeling frustrated and exasperated at how morose she was.

After pacing her room fifteen times, inspecting the tidy corners and straightening (and re-straightening, and then again) her bed covers, Charlotte decided her ridiculous behavior was quite enough. Clearly, being alone with her thoughts was doing exactly nothing for her feelings.

Before she could change her mind, Charlotte strode out of the room and down the stairs, toward the parlor. She could hear voices, a woman’s and a man’s, and prayed that it was Mr. and Mrs. Parker.

From the bottom of the stairs, Charlotte could see straight into the parlor, though she was still relatively hidden, and the voices that sounded muffled and distant upstairs now rang clear, so that she could distinctly hear what they were saying.

“…hope you are finding Sanditon to your liking.” It was Mr. Sidney Parker. Charlotte’s breath hitched and she mentally kicked herself.

“Yes, I have quite enjoyed what I’ve seen so far,” replied the widowed Mrs. Campion. “The people here are so different from dreary London.”

Charlotte had to admit she quite agreed. She had found London most disagreeable, and in some cases even dangerous. If she never had cause to return, she shouldn’t grieve. This turn of conversation gave her some comfort, and Charlotte forced herself to move out of the shadow of the stairwell, to linger in the door.

“How do you mean?” Sidney asked, his voice rather stiff. Charlotte could see him now, across the room from where the widowed Mrs. Campion was sitting on the sofa, her back to the doorway. Sidney also had his back to her, opting instead to gaze out the window.

“Well, most are quite quaint,” she said. Charlotte shifted her weight expectantly.

"Take that lovely young thing, Miss Heywood,” the widowed Mrs. Campion continued, “Her face is fair enough, but she hasn’t a sensible thought in that head of hers. I don’t know how she expects to find a husband with her head stuck—”

Charlotte gasped and froze. Sidney whipped around at Eliza and caught sight of Charlotte, fixed in the doorway. She watched his mouth open ever so slightly, brow knit, before she turned and ran from the room.

She was halfway up the stairs when Sidney caught up to her.

“Charlotte,” he uttered, his voice a low rasp. She felt his hand grip her arm and she forced herself to turn.

He was two stairs below her, so that they were nearly eye-to-eye, and Charlotte could plainly see he was stricken. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed the widowed Mrs. Campion standing in the parlor doorway, looking uneasy.

His intense gaze gave Charlotte pause, and she considered playing the whole thing off like it had been no harmful thing if it meant he would not look so sorry anymore.

“Eliza spoke out of turn,” he murmured to her, and the familiar use of Mrs. Campion’s Christian name set Charlotte over the edge.

“Please forgive me,” she said as loftily as she could muster, begging the pinpricks in her eyes not to betray her. She wrenched her arm free of Mr. Parker’s grip and began moving steadily up the stairs. “I pray my interference caused no great damage.”

Mr. Parker remained steadfast on the stairs, watching Charlotte ascend. She forbade herself from looking back at him as she firmly shut her bedroom door.

Charlotte fell back onto her bed, allowing the pinpricks to grow into big, pitiful tears. There was just nothing for it, as she knew Eliza was right. She was just a stupid girl, and how could a stupid, insensible and frivolous girl ever earn the affections of anyone, much less Mr. Sidney Parker? The cause was lost, Charlotte felt, when she was held up against the cosmopolitan beauty of Eliza.

What was possibly worse, she realized with a sob, was that the lady Susan had been absolutely right about her. She was befuddled, and hopelessly in love. Charlotte wished she could cut her heart out to stop the pain at knowing how impossible her want was.

She knew not how long she lay crying for, only that she did not make it down for dinner. In fact, her crying fit had left her so exhausted, she was quite soundly asleep when, an hour later, a worried Sidney Parker knocked softly at her door. She missed him wait and listen anxiously for her response and, lacking any reply, move slowly and resolutely back down the stairs.


	2. A Certain Young Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the day of the regatta, Sidney broods over Charlotte's subdued mood and attempts to make things right.

Sanditon was positively crackling with anticipation of the regatta that morning. As Sidney dressed for the occasion, he couldn’t help feeling slightly sick. For one thing, he hadn’t seen Charlotte in two days, and though he knew she was under excellent care, he couldn’t help his worried nerves after leaving her in the state he had.

“Spirited” was often a word people used to describe Charlotte, though Sidney detected that she had been subdued on the trip back to London. This suspicion was compounded by Tom’s confession that Charlotte was spending rather a lot of time locked in her room.

It was not at all like her, and Sidney felt himself on-edge, unable to conjure a version of these circumstances wherein he _wasn’t_ the one at fault.

After all, it was _he_ who had pushed her to attend the party that she was very clear about not wanting to attend. It was he who encouraged her to stay and mingle when she confessed her unease to him. It was he who had left her on her own to fret and then, upon finding her, convince her to dance with him, when she had clearly been hesitant. It had been selfish, he knew—to want to hold her, to want to watch her move gracefully around him. He wanted an excuse to be close to her, and to feel, for the first time in a _very_ long time, like he belonged somewhere. Like he was wanted somewhere, by someone.

And she seemed to enjoy the dance, though he would not delude himself into any sort of credit on that front. Charlotte had mentioned before her firm belief in dancing as an activity that lifts the spirits. He had loved watching her smile up at him as the music picked up in tempo, loved watching her laugh, curls bouncing, as he spun her.

That was the last time he saw her smile, Sidney realized with a jolt. After that, she had returned to her solemn mood, face impassive. In fact, she seemed even more upset than she had before the dancing.

Then there was the matter of two days ago. Two days, which felt like a lifetime ago. Between the stormy disposition of Georgiana, who had moved in with him after the fiasco in London, and the debacle at Tom’s house the other day, Sidney felt quite surrounded by women who wanted nothing or less to do with him.

He had met with Mary yesterday to discuss that very subject.

_“Yes, you are in quite the predicament,” Mary had told him, a wry smile on her lips. “Tom is rather excited at the prospect of you and Eliza…reuniting.”_

_Sidney studied her before answering, minding the way she lingered._

_“As Tom should well know, I’m not the same man I was before,” he replied, thinking of how drastically his life had changed since Eliza left him all those years ago. “I cannot cauterize my heart the way so many think I can.”_

_Mary halted her teacup’s travel to her lips and gazed at him curiously. _

_“Love is a difficult thing,” she said, after a while. She placed her cup back on its saucer._

_“It is not so easily won, nor easily lost,” Sidney agreed. He found his eyes traveling frequently to the empty sitting room doorway. _

_“Has Charlotte called on Georgiana since your return?” Mary asked, following Sidney’s eyes to the doorway, then turning back to him. _

_“No, she hasn’t,” he said. “Has Miss Heywood had any callers since returning?” _

_“Why yes, the young Mr. Stringer stopped by this morning,” Mary said, looking down at her tea. Sidney felt his body tense up._

_“The young Mr. Stringer?” He tried to keep his voice even, casual._

_“They have struck up quite the friendship,” she said. “I believe there is some partiality on his side, though I confess I cannot read her feelings as well.”_

Sidney felt his stomach swoop painfully just recalling the information. The young Mr. Stringer was partial to Charlotte. He resisted the urge to call her _His Charlotte_ in his head, lest the habit carry over while speaking. And of course, it was not a surprise to him that Mr. Stringer favored her.

They had spent enough time together that he undoubtedly saw how charming she was, and Sidney had not missed her bidding him good luck before the cricket. She had been positively beaming at Mr. Stringer. True, historically Sidney knew he inspired indignation in Charlotte more often than giggles. But he felt this entitled him to knowing more of her than anyone else—she had shown him a side of her she would not show others, and he had not turned away.

But it was also true that indignation was not a conventional foundation for love, or even companionship. He was forced to admit the possibility that he had ruined any prospect of a relationship between them before he had even gotten started.

Then there was Eliza. As a former paramour, she was treating Sidney with partiality, though to what end? He may have come a long way from his escape to Antigua, and he may be a different man, but he had not forgotten the circumstances of their broken engagement. However sweet, however charming, however downright beautiful Eliza seemed, Sidney could not help feeling compelled toward the assumption that her desires were rather financial in nature.

The comment she had made about Charlotte—which had been needlessly coarse—where had that come from? She had known the girl but three days, and already was confident in presuming her unwise. Sidney had known her six weeks and was still discovering new competencies in her every time they met.

And both women would be there today, at the regatta. He wondered, as he climbed into his coach, whether either of them would be pleased to see him, or whether they would rather offer their attentions to other men.

Upon arriving at the regatta, Sidney was immediately taken upon by an anxious-looking Tom.

“Are you well enough to row today, Sidney? You know I need a good showing from the gentlemen,” he said, his arm thrown around Sidney’s shoulders. Sidney nodded.

“I expect you’ll be able to pull out a victory, considering you’ll have a certain young woman to cheer you on,” said Tom with a smirk. Sidney whipped his face up to meet Tom’s, searching.

“Who do you mean?” Sidney asked, turning back to look at the integrated crowd behind them. He didn’t see Charlotte anywhere.

“Why, Eliza of course!” Tom chortled genially, patting Sidney’s shoulder. “I was telling Charlotte just last week that this could be your second chance at happiness.” Sidney stopped walking.

“You…you told Miss Heywood? About Eliza?” His legs felt leaden. Charlotte’s mysterious behavior was beginning to make sense.

“Why yes, we discussed…she confessed she thought you had a bad opinion of her, so I explained your history and that you’ve quite changed since your, your friendship with Eliza,” Tom said, frowning. He had stopped walking as well, and faced Sidney now curiously. “I apologize if I was out of line, I did not know…” he trailed off.

Sidney felt his body sway in the whipping wind at this revelation. Charlotte thought he had a bad opinion of her. Charlotte thought he was still in love with Eliza. Charlotte was being pursued by the polite, agreeable and handsome Mr. Stringer. No, this would not do. He needed to speak with her, at once.

He turned and strode back down the beach, leaving a confused Tom behind him. As he neared the crowd, he began scanning the many bonnets and hats for a wild head of dark hair, but to no avail. Sidney wondered if Charlotte had bothered to come at all, but admitted she must be here—with a sick twist of his stomach—to cheer on Mr. Stringer, at least.

As he pushed through the host of spectators, his cruelest mind’s eye played a torturous loop of memories: Charlotte yelling at him, Charlotte smiling at Mr. Stringer, Charlotte storming away from him, Charlotte crying because of him, because of Eliza. He was getting quite frantic when he heard a voice call his name.

“Sidney! Sidney, old boy!” He could hear Lord Babington gaining ground and ceased his search. He tried in vain to steady his heavy breathing. “Where’ve you been? We need to head to the boats or Tom will have our heads.” Sidney looked at the ground and nodded affirmation.

He followed Babington dutifully to the dock, dejected. This whole regatta had been Charlotte’s idea, and she was clearly too upset with him to even come and enjoy the fruits of her hard work.

On the dock, Sidney turned back to the shore one more time to search for Charlotte. He spotted, some distance away, a waving hand, and was able to make out Eliza, Charlotte and Georgiana standing together, watching him. Eliza was waving and calling to him, while Charlotte and Georgiana stood quite still, impassive expressions on their faces.

Sidney wanted to call to Charlotte, to let her know how wrong she was, to tell her how he felt—but he didn’t want to risk further misunderstanding, with her being so near Eliza. How could he win her back, or at least convince her not to give up on him?

“Sidney, are you going to get in the boat? The race is nearly begun—” Babington called to him. Sidney waved his acknowledgement, eyes never leaving Charlotte’s.

Then he had it. He lifted his right hand to his brow, hand flat in salute, held it for a moment, then brought his arm back down. He may have been far from her, but he did not miss the way her lips split into a grin.

Spirits lighter, knowing hope was not totally lost, Sidney climbed into the boat, ready to begin the race and get back to his admiral.


End file.
